


A Solace of Our Own (We Can Be Lonely Together)

by kafkas_side_bitch



Category: Die Verwandlung | The Metamorphosis - Franz Kafka, Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Bigotry & Prejudice, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Bugs & Insects, Emo Mike Wheeler, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Mad Scientists, One-Sided Will Byers/Mike Wheeler, Romance, Soulmates, Time Travel, True Love, Will Byers Can't Catch a Break, Will Byers Deserves Love, it is very good, please try it out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26741890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kafkas_side_bitch/pseuds/kafkas_side_bitch
Summary: Gregor Samsa's life changed when he woke one morning to find himself in the body of a beetle.Steve Harrington's life changed when he woke up one morning to find the love of his life.A beautiful story that will pull at your heartstrings--a story of love, loss, and overcoming insecurities and the boundaries of society with use of a time machine and a mad scientist.
Relationships: Dustin Henderson/Suzie, Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler, Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair, Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson, Steve Harrington/Gregor Samsa, Will Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper, Will Byers & Mike Wheeler
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	A Solace of Our Own (We Can Be Lonely Together)

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since I read "Metamorphosis" for AP Lit, I have been fascinated by the idea of learning to define yourself in spite of convention. I also really felt for Steve's character. 
> 
> This is a masterpiece. 
> 
> Thank you for clicking on this piece of art.

Gregor Samsa had been filled to the brim with a sense of immense emptiness since he woke up on that dreaded morning in the body of an insect. He felt disconnected from himself. He lost his job and he lost his family. Those who had once viewed him with respect and decency now were horrified by him. 

But everything crumbled once more when his father said those dreaded words. The words he would never forget for as long as he lived a sad, starved, lonely beetle: 

_ “Get out!” _

There was no sympathy, no love, no pride. Gregor merely looked down at his dreadful body and felt his heart shatter at the realization that he was no longer his father’s son. He was no longer his mother’s son, either, or his sister’s brother. He would never travel again or carry a simple conversation with his boss or coworkers. It was almost as if he had been stripped of his rights as a human being… 

Oh, wait. He  _ had _ been. 

The wind whooshed against his trembling exoskeleton as he crawled out the door and into the painful exposure of the tumultuous weather. Rain fell in thick, cold droplets from the gray sky, and all he could think was that he was  _ too weak _ for this. He was injured and he was heartbroken. His poor body had been battered both on the inside and out, and there he stood, almost blown away in the wind, a shell of the man he had once been. 

As he inched along the soggy ground, salty tears mixing in with the rainwater, a light, airy tune echoed throughout his muddled mind like the flash of a distant lighthouse glowing through the thick air of a foggy night. The high-pitched sound of a violin, smooth as the bow’s horse-hairs glided along the steel strings, finger effortlessly jerking back and forth on the string’s surface, creating a fluent, melodic vibrato that melted into the sounds of the rain and the passing traffic like a dollop of sour cream into a bowl of steaming borscht. 

_ It was his sister. _

A passion he had always supported whole-heartedly. A sound that he was no longer welcome to hear. A beauty that his vile, disgusting self was not worthy of beholding. 

His legs could barely hold his frame. They wobbled, unsteadily, slipping every few seconds against the mud he walked on, and then against the soaked road. When a car drove by, he was splashed with a wave of dirty water, causing him to lose his balance and roll onto his back, being carried in the fast stream. He was in the gutters, horns honking and horse-hooves clicking around him, overwhelming his poor ears. People were shouting at him. People were horrified by him. People wanted to kill him. 

“Take this, scum!” shouted a man, and Gregor subsequently felt the sharp blow of a cane against his stomach. It sent pain exploding throughout his body, and he tried his best to curl into himself without success. The water was rushing too quickly, and he was too stiff. He had no chance of running away. 

“Please don’t hurt me…” Gregor croaked out in his inhuman voice, broken Russian clawing its way out of his body as he scratched the ridges of his head against his thorax. “I’m a man. Just in this body. It isn’t my fault, sir! Please spare me!” 

He was beyond desperate at this point, clinging to any source of life he could grasp with his weakened pinchers. He had been discarded from all he cared for, but he still didn’t want to die. He still wanted to see the world with his compound eyes and feel the air against his shell because in those silent moments, he almost forgot he was a monster, and he almost felt at peace with himself—at least with who he still was on the inside. 

_ Crack! _

It hurt so much, and Gregor had grown numb to it all. The man lifted the cane once more to leave a final, most likely deadly blow, and Gregor squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation. He waited for pain to be replaced with darkness, nothingness, afterlife. 

But it didn’t come. 

He waited another second, and still nothing. 

Nothing. 

_ Nothing.  _

He opened his eyes, looking up at the overcast, rainy sky, then toward a scruffy face hovered over him, long, gray beard hanging down from the chin and blue eyes twinkling despite the lack of light. A pointy nose and eyebrows that resembled caterpillars more than the facial features of a human. A hand with long, crooked fingers reaching toward him, causing Gregor to flinch away in fear. 

“Don’t kill me… I beg of you…” the beetle whispered, trembling in both cold and fear. His antennae vibrated as though doing everything they could to distract him from the trauma of his surroundings. 

“I won’t hurt you, young beetle.” said the man in a quiet, scratchy voice as though it had gone unused for an extensive period of time. It was gentle in a harsh way, and it was kind in an unsettling way. “I’ve been looking for someone like you for years.” 

Slightly alarmed, but more so resigned to whatever fate met him, Gregor allowed the man to grasp his hands around the edges of his torso and flip him over so that he was back on his feet, weak as they were. He stumbled at first and had to take a few seconds to steady himself, but he was eventually able to stand before the man, looking shamefully down at his boots. 

“We should head to my laboratory before anyone else tries to harm you.” 

“L-laboratory?” Gregor mumbled, stuttering with surprise. 

“Why, of course, lad. I am a scientist. Studying entomology at the moment and the miracles of science that bring about cases like yours. I assume you haven’t always been an insect?” 

Gregor fiddled his antennae together, awkwardly, before attempting to explain. Nobody had ever cared to ask him his own perspective on the occurrence. It may have been motivated entirely by academic and financial interest, but Gregor, nevertheless, felt touched. 

“Yes, sir.” Gregor began, glancing up to check if the man would strike him for speaking, but he only looked down at him with attention and fascination in his eyes. He was listening to Gregor’s words, eager to hear what he had to say. “Well, um… I woke up one morning like this. I don’t know what caused it. I had a fine job and a wonderful family. I was on good terms with my boss, and I enjoyed the travelling my work entailed. But all of that changed in a single night. 

“My mother was badly frightened by me. I can’t say I blame her. I felt terribly guilty. My father was angered by the sight of me and what I was doing to the family, and my sister turned against me as well. Who could be expected to look at a creature like me without curling away in disgust? I shouldn’t have survived the first day. My father kicked me out when my mother grew ill from stress. I brought it all upon them, regardless of my efforts at isolating myself and covering my horrid body with a sheet. I’m no longer fit to have a family. I am alone.” 

“Here we are.” said the scientist, unlocking the door to a small apartment on the outskirts of town. The immediate interior seemed almost average, though in poor condition, with a table with legs of unequal length and an old, rusted ice box. There was a fireplace used to cook food and a small, dilapidated, lumpy bed in the far corner, against the wall. “My laboratory is in the basement. Watch your step.” 

The stairs creaked at the presence of any weight, and Gregor struggled not to stumble. He was not exactly built for such a contraption. The laboratory was dark at first, but with the lighting of a few candles, it was illuminated slightly into something ominous, yet intriguing. There were jars of insects stacked against the wall. Boards with dead butterflies pinned to them. A cage with a giant tarantula roaming around within it, and an ant farm. It smelled strongly of sickly camembert, and in the space underneath the staircase sat a pile of objects that seemed entirely unrelated to the scientist’s entomology pursuits. A plethora of clocks and pocket watches hanging from the wall and a box full of various tools, beside an object Gregor could not identify. It was round and metal, with giant bolts sticking out of the sides, almost like a shell of sorts, like those used by the military. On the front, near the center, was a round hole, full of extensive clockwork. Gears ticked in all directions, making soft clicking sounds that almost disguised themselves as background noise. The peculiarity of the object caused Gregor’s gaze to fixate on it, studying it, pondering about its identity and function. 

“That isn’t mine.” said the scientist. “I have a friend who studies chronology. He thought he could build a time machine, but it has yet to work.” 

Gregor looked up at the man with confusion, beginning to realize that he had stepped into his home without knowledge of who he was aside from his career and unusual interest in insects. 

“My name is Sergey Kuznetsov. In my research, I’ve gained the knowledge that every few decades, a human will transform into a beetle while still maintaining their previous memories. Knowledge of language remains. I’ve always wanted to study the psychology of such a case. I happen to also be interested in the works of the mind, however, unlike Freud, not the human mind. The insect mind fascinates me. It seems impossible that the brain and ganglia of an insect could have the complexity required to think and feel as a human would. However, unless it is the product of…” 

Sergey’s voice trailed off as he stared off into the distance in thought. His eyes met Gregor’s again before he continued, voice lower, sounding almost frightened of the words he uttered. 

“...the supernatural…” He swallowed. “My comrade of thirty years, Maksim Lebedev, whom I spent my university years with—the one who built that odd contraption under the stairs—believes that science and the supernatural can be combined in order to create extraordinary things. He believes that his time machine will work someday. I thought his ideas to be the ramblings of a fool, educated on works of nature only to grow cocky and declare he has the answer to all scientific questions. Not until I saw you did I begin to realize that he may have been correct. 

“He was the one to give me the book that explained your predicament. I laughed as I read it, believing it to be some sort of joke. But… You really do exist. What is your name, young man?” 

“Gregor Samsa, sir.” 

“Gregor Samsa. What a sophisticated name. It is such a shame that the world cannot see you for the man you are.” 

Gregor looked down, sadly, brought back into the pit of despair he had only recently been distracted from. 

“Don’t frown, Gregor. I brought you here so that I could talk to you, and then try my best to turn you back.” 

Gregor’s eyes grew wide as he peered up at Sergey, something that almost resembled hope filling his chest. Would the scientist really be able to turn him back? Would he be able to step into his family’s home once again without looks of fear or disgust being cast in his direction? 

_ Would he be able to regain all parts of his life he had lost?  _


End file.
